Sara was never one for subtleties. From the moment Logan broke up with her, to the moment her mother died (granted, there weren’t many moments between the two), Sara had pestered her relentlessly about coming out to drown her sorrows in Milo’s dimples.
She’d gracefully given up on that after… well, everything.
Even if Hanna had been interested in something romantic with Milo, she had three very well-rehearsed reasons why she would rather throw herself into the Grand Canyon.
1. He lived in San Francisco.
This didn’t require much thought—long distance was an absolute nonstarter, given how her long-term relationship with Logan imploded within weeks of him moving cross-country for work.
She wasn’t doing that bullshit again.
Ever.
2. He was just, like, too hot.
Hanna was a woman of the early aughts and, as such, she’d worked for years to accept her body and love herself. But even with thousands of dollars invested in therapy, there was a line in her ambition.
Milo took that line, made sweet, sweet love to it, and never called it again.
Seeing him in person only reaffirmed her initial distrust of those dimples. He was massive, not in a yoked-gym-bro way, but in a Thor-was-probably-the-first-branch-of-his-family-tree way. His dark hair was long enough that she had to consciously make an effort not to reach out and touch a curl hanging at his jaw. The deep bronze set off his olive tan, perfectly complemented by earthy eyes that she was certain were capable of X-ray vision.
The kicker?
Just enough tattoos to push him firmly into Bad Boy™ territory, but a stable enough tech job and somewhat decent moral compass—again, if the rumors were to be believed—that barred him from full-blown mischief membership.
3. He knew too much.
There was one last reason—just a small one.
When her mom died after a rollercoaster diagnosis of late-stage cancer that no one saw coming, Hanna called Sara from the hospital parking lot. It was Wednesday, movie and wings night. Milo answered as Sara argued with Matty in the background. He’d caught the brunt of Hanna’s shock and grief-fueled hysteria, and she simply refused to ever get to know him well enough to talk about it.
Every time she glanced at his unreasonably handsome face, she whooshed through the last year and found herself back in that parking lot, baking in the Phoenix sun as she screamed into the phone.
The devastation welled up in her chest again just at the sight of him—she couldn’t invite any more suffering into her life.
She was maxed out on pain.
“Listen, if you don’t think you can handle being in a confined space with me… you can always call an Uber.” He smirked and a surprise fourth reason bubbled up.
4. Milo was entirely too aware of the aforementioned number two.
He flashed a cocky smile, earning a huff and an eyeroll from Hanna.
“I knew you’d be an arrogant bastard, you know that? You just have that look.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two,” he said, a low, rumbling laugh reverberating off the bar top.
Hanna reached into her purse and tossed a twenty down, drowning her final sips, and then reached for his glass. Milo covered her hand, the weight of his a shock to her very lonely system.
“I could have just bought you a drink. All you had to do was say please.”
She leaned close to him, catching those green eyes with her own fiery stare.
“I’m bored.”
She marched out of the bar and into the harsh evening sunset, her season-old espadrilles crunching in the gravel parking lot. Sara might have had a point in sending someone to collect her, after all. Her head swirled, and not entirely from the temperature.
She tapped across her phone, opening her Uber app and scrolling to find the Rodriguezes’ address. The app thought, and then thought some more.
